Given this conclusion, it was obvious that he would be very wrong, very blameable, to condemn a lady—any lady, let alone one so singular and admirable as Elizabeth—to a lifetime in his company. Georgiana and Bingley—their miraculous regard for him—was far more than he merited, surely; and with two such friends in his life, he could not justifiably repine his want of a wife. Indeed, he felt all his luck in having those two: until Elizabeth had shown him a true vision of himself, he had never realised that his manners were in any way accountable for his having so few intimates; it had always appeared to him rather a consequence of his own taste and discrimination. Now he was forced to own that his ill temper, his overbearing manner, and his want of even the most common cordiality, would have put off all but the most congenial of individuals. Having thus injured Elizabeth especially by his incivility, was inexpressibly painful to him: that she should have disliked him so determinedly, from the first moments of their acquaintance even, when he had been so selfishly unaware of what she must feel, spoke deeply to him of his short-comings. To have wounded her so cavalierly, so callously that he had no idea just what he had done to deserve her censure —and to have inflicted such a grievous injury on himself thereby—forced him to re-evaluate all of his previous beliefs as to what constituted the proper degree of consideration due others.
As the days passed, Darcy diligently sought to accustom himself to his new expectations: to learn to be satisfied with grey, where there had been colour; to anticipate nothing more than contentment, and not happiness; and most explicitly, to give over any hope where Elizabeth, or any other lady, was concerned. His success was questionable, but he was satisfied by the strength of his efforts, and trusted that they would eventually be sufficient to his needs.
His aunt was of material use during these weeks, in turning aside Georgiana’s attention whenever they both happened to be present at the culmination of one of his inner chastisements; between them they succeeded in keeping Georgiana’s apprehensions from awakening. Darcy made return to his aunt for this, and for her kindly instruction and support, by his solicitude for her cares and her welfare; he continued the practice of walking with her each day, listening to her relieve her fears on the subject of the Colonel, and benefitting in his turn by occasionally receiving her sympathetic attention to his concerns; most especially did he benefit from being assured he was not the most blazingly contemptible fool in the kingdom.
Chapter Six
So did June pass away: Darcy worrying at his faults, and his aunt worrying over the fate of her son. But the first Friday in July opened a new chapter, as the family’s anticipation was finally rewarded with not one, but two letters from Colonel Fitzwilliam at once. The family gathered around Lord Andover impatiently to hear the news; in the first, dated June 14, the Colonel had to tell only of his passage, and safe arrival at Genoa on that date. This Lord Andover handed to his wife, and opened the second. As he began to read, however, his repeated exclamations of surprise aroused every one’s concern and alarm, until he was forced to read it all aloud:
HMS Kestrel
June 19, —
Father,
First, I am well; please reassure Mother on that account. I write with news that will bring more pleasure to her than to yourself, I am afraid: I return to England—in fact, I shall already be in London as you read this.
At such a beginning, Lady Andover gave a cry of astonishment, joy, and relief; hugging Georgiana to her, she wept a little for the gladness of these tidings. Darcy’s uncle, however, remained inflexibly grave, and continued:
On my arrival at Genoa, I heard from the commander of the blockade that the siege there had but lately lifted, and the French surrender accepted; but, there being plague in the city…
At this Lady Andover gave a little gasp of fright, but her husband shook his head and, with a comforting hand on her arm, continued:
…I passed it from a distance on my way north, where, I had been told, the Austrians were massed at Alessandria. Riding steadily through the day, I reached the environs of that place late in the afternoon; there, my advance was restricted perforce by growing evidence of battle; indeed, the smell of powder still hung in the air, although the guns were stilled. Not knowing whether this might betide good or ill, I became cautious; I dismounted and, removing my regalia, I approached on foot as night fell. I shall not toy with your suspense: I found the Austrians had fallen to the French, led by none other than Bonaparte; their surrender had been accepted that very afternoon at a village called Marengo. For the main part of the next two days I scouted, and I shall spend much of the voyage home writing up what I discovered; but suffice it to say that the French have secured northern Italy: an incredible and staggering turn of events.
Unharmed, even uncontested, I rode harder still back to the south, my main concern being to reach Genoa before the blockade ships might leave the area. In this I was fortunate, and I took berth aboard the Kestrel, bound immediately for home. We are now in the waters south of Spain, but I should expect to be in England no sooner than the 1st July: the captain will swing well out to sea to avoid the French coastline, as she is a frigate and only lightly gunned.
July 2
I have kept this open that I might include word of my arrival. We just now dock in Dover; I shall spend the night here, as it is late, and ride for London in the morning; I shall post my letters from there. Father, you will appreciate the import of the intelligence I bear, and I expect you may reach me at Horse Guards in Whitehall at any time in the next week, and well beyond.
I am, Sir, your obedient &c.,
Col. Edmund Fitzwilliam
Spectemur agendo
Dinner that evening was a joyous affair, with the ladies of the house in the highest of spirits at the safe arrival of their son and cousin back on British soil. Lord Andover rejoiced in his wife’s happiness throughout the meal; when they had withdrawn, however, he turned to Darcy sombrely, saying, “This will have far-reaching consequences, I fear, and I have some concern over how the Colonel’s rôle will be perceived. On consideration, I believe he acted aright; indeed, I do not know what else he might have done, but it would be possible to construe his actions as dereliction; York may try to injure me through your cousin. Beyond this personal concern, a loss of this magnitude will have a profound effect on policy, both as regards the French, and as regards our current allies. I ought to be in London; would you accompany me, Darcy? Moreover—would you accept me as your guest? I have no time to be bothering with an hotel, and there will be certain discussions requisite that should be kept from outsiders at all cost.”
Darcy assured him he would be most welcome at Grosvenor Square for as long as he wished, adding, “It would be as well for me to be home, too; I have no doubt things wanting my attention will have been starting to collect, and I feel the need of looking into my affairs.”
“And your sister? Perhaps she might wish to remain with her aunt?”
Darcy considered, then replied: “I imagine she would do so quite happily, but I cannot but believe my aunt will insist on going to London herself to see the Colonel, do not you think? I am sure Georgiana would be pleased to have her as her guest, or she may certainly avail herself of Grosvenor Square.”
“Quite right, Darcy, of course: I was thinking only of the work to be done—your aunt dislikes being around me when I have things afoot. But you are right: she will certainly want to go up to see Edmund.”
“As you seem to feel a degree of urgency, perhaps you and I might go up to-morrow, with the ladies to follow as soon as they can?” Darcy suggested.
To this his uncle agreed, and the men shortly re-joined the ladies. The evening passed pleasantly; Georgiana played to them, and their aunt could scarcely contain herself long enough to stay seated through the length of a piece, for the joyfulness of her spirits; on several occasions she pulled either her husband or nephew into an impromptu little dance, as Georgiana’s lively playing caused her elation to brim over into motion.
Darcy and his uncle left for London the next day, and on their arrival the morning following, his Lordship immediately posted several letters, then left to meet with some of his associates in Parliament. He did not return until well into the evening, bringing with him some three or four others; after a late supper, he remained closeted with them in one of the smaller rooms until far into the night.
This pattern was to repeat itself for several days, until Darcy began to feel himself rather in the way, even in his own home; he saw nothing whatever of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and, having come down to breakfast one morning to find a gentleman unknown to him in evening attire just finishing having eaten, who bowed to him with utmost courtesy and left without a word, he decided that perhaps he might think of taking his aunt’s advice and going on an extended excursion. There was nothing to hold him: his work caught up, he had very little to do at home aside from contemplating past errors and an empty future.
The following day he met Bingley at White’s for dinner, just to get himself out of the way at home. He found his friend, though, in low spirits. When he broached his plans, Bingley replied with: “What? Oh, an excursion; certainly, that sounds pleasant. I have nothing to hold me. Of course…I shall be happy to come.” All this was said with a most abstracted air, leaving Darcy almost in doubt that Bingley had even understood him.
“Bingley,” he said, “are you quite well? You seem out of sorts.”
“I am well enough, Darcy,” was the lacklustre reply. “But, as you say, a little out of sorts. Caroline has mentioned my moods, too; perhaps I should go on a trip, get out of London—it might do me good, and would definitely give me occupation. Where were you thinking of going?”
“I had not got that far,” Darcy told him. “Have you any thoughts?”
“No; anywhere would do for me.”
“Do you have any restraints on your time?”
“No, I have nothing in front of me; we can leave whenever you like.”
Darcy was troubled by this lack of animation, naturally, but it reaffirmed his intention of taking his friend away in search of diversion. After dinner, he and Bingley lost themselves for a while in cards, but neither one took much interest in the play; they made their respective ways home at an early hour. Darcy continued to revolve and refine his thinking on the excursion; at first he thought of only inviting Bingley, as his friend would clearly benefit from a change of scene, both as a relief from his sisters, and for whatever else was troubling him. But, realising that would leave Georgiana with not one, but two households with guests to be looked after, and wishing her company in any event, he thought instead of a large party, including both his sister and his aunt.
His sister and aunt arrived early that next week, and settled in Davies Street, as Lord Andover had suggested they might. Darcy discussed his thoughts of an excursion with both ladies, and readily received their approbation. In a reversal of their normal routine, Darcy began to visit his sister’s establishment in the mornings, again with the idea of leaving his uncle a clear field for his activities on behalf of the nation.
Bingley was invited to a discussion of the scheme; the four of them sat comfortably in the drawing-room at Davies Street for an hour or two, discussing possibilities.
“How far shall we go?” was Darcy’s first question.
“Perhaps we might go to Scotland,” suggested Bingley tentatively. “It would be cooler, and we could escape from the press of people here in Town.”
This was an odd thing for him to say, and Darcy noted again his friend’s uncharacteristically withdrawn manner; he had never known Bingley to wish to avoid the crowds of London before.
To this Lady Andover countered: “But we should miss out on the English summer! And the heat is greatly mitigated, is not it, by the delightful breezes in the open country, and the speed of the coaches?” Bingley allowed this to be true, and sat back quietly.
To conciliate his friend, Darcy offered: “What of a little sea voyage? Well, not a voyage, perhaps, but just a day on the water. What could be more refreshing?”
“The Isle of Wight?” suggested Georgiana. “One hears of it as being a pleasant trip.”
“Or Cardiff,” Her Ladyship put forward. “There is really very little to see in either case, but as a destination for a day’s outing either would serve.”
“But where shall we end up?” asked Bingley.
“Should you care to come to Pemberley for a time, Bingley?” Darcy asked. “Let me return your hospitality of last autumn, and have you stay with me this year.” Bingley nodded, but it seemed his thoughts, sent back to Netherfield by Darcy’s comment, had been captured by his memories of that place, and he did not speak further on the subject; the others, however, eventually agreed on Cardiff as a destination for a day on the water.
“Might we see also your university, Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana asked hopefully.
“That would work well,” concurred her aunt. “I shall need some things from Clereford, and we could take it in en route to Oxford.”
To this Darcy nodded agreeably. In order to bring his friend back into the discussion, Darcy asked, “Bingley, do you recall Miss Hartsbury’s ball last spring? I was thinking of asking if she would care to come along. What say you?”
“Darcy,” interrupted his aunt, “is not Miss Hartsbury the one they call the rabid rabbit?”
“How on Earth could you know that, Lady Andover?” he asked, placing an emphasis on her title to accentuate how at variance her knowledge was with her dignity.
“Oh, nonsense,” the lady scoffed. “The young always prefer to believe that their elders are utterly unaware of what goes on around them; we simply chose to allow you your foolishness, since to oppose it is akin to opposing the tides—or any other relentless force of Nature.”
Darcy grinned and asked, “So youthful folly is a relentless force of Nature, Your Ladyship? How, then, is this force expended, that it no longer troubles the elderly?”
“It wears itself out on our persons; why do you think those who commit the most of them are aged before their time? And you will note that I preserve an almost pristine perfection of feature, due to my having eschewed all such taxing foolishness in my early years.” Even Bingley smiled at this. “But, seriously, Darcy,” she asked, “do you know this lady?”
“I do indeed, Aunt. I have found her to possess considerable character.” He did not explain that he felt obliged to move her interests forward where a certain gentleman from Bath was concerned, as a sort of recompense for the unrequited interest she had shown in him.
“Is she here in Town, now?” asked Her Ladyship. “I am aware that she spends a good part of each year in Bath, that her mother may take the waters.” This Darcy had not known, but it explained to him Miss Hartsbury’s frequenting Bath, and Lady Andover’s knowledge of her: they each were accustomed to spending time there, and in such a compressed society they could not help but have come to each other’s attention.
“She is, I believe,” he replied.
“Very well, I will take your word on the matter: not that you have shown yourself to be a paragon of wisdom on the subject of young ladies’ characters.”
Bingley chuckled outright at that, but Georgiana was rather taken aback that her aunt would make light of her brother’s discrimination so openly.
“Perhaps, Bingley, as we are to go through Oxford, we might include Pender,” Darcy suggested.
Bingley nodded agreeably, and Lady Andover asked, “Mr. Vincent Pender, Master of Christ Church?”
“Yes, Aunt; do you know him?”
“We have met,” said she. “He will be a diverting companion for a journey.”
With such observations and decisions, they came at last to agree on an itinerary that would take in a great deal of England’s countryside, winding about the South and the Midlands for some two weeks, to finish at Pemberley late in the month of July.
Over the next two days, Darcy put the finishing touches on the scheme. To keep peace in Bingle
y’s family, and to make a proper return to Bingley for his hospitality the year prior, he eventually resigned himself to inviting both Miss Bingley and the Hursts; he sent an invitation to Miss Hartsbury for her and a companion, as well as one to Pender. Discreet enquiry had enabled him to discover that Sir Neville Canham’s interest where Miss Hartsbury was concerned, had, if anything, augmented, and by sending an invitation his way too, he hoped to continue the good effects he had begun at her ball.
The final plan, then, was to take Bingley and his sister, and the Hursts, together with Miss Hartsbury and her companion, to Clereford, according to Lady Andover’s wishes: Darcy was sure that Miss Bingley had not forgotten her desire of seeing it, and he could thereby relieve himself of that obligation without risk of repercussion. From there they would proceed to Oxford, and add Pender to their party; Sir Neville, the last member of their entourage, was to join them in Bath. On to Bristol, a short voyage across to Cardiff and a return to Bristol, then on through Gloucester, Worcester, Derby, and, finally, arriving at Pemberley after a fortnight’s travel, for an indeterminate stay, with the various members of the company invited for as long as their schedules allowed. Their departure was set for mid-July.
Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home Page 4